Talks
by Patricia de Lioncourt
Summary: SPN Season 7. Crazy Cas has a very specific question for Meg.


Any warnings: brief mentions of sexual things, but nothing explicit. Minor swearing, no more than an episode of SPN

Disclaimer: I don't own SPN or any related character.

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 **Talks**

"When was your first time?" Castiel asked, with all the sickeningly forward nature of a small child.

Meg jumped, having not realized that she had had a passenger join her in her car in the last moment or so. She arched a brow, glancing around at the rather nondescript motel/restaurant she had stopped at just to stop driving for a bit.

"How the hell did you know I was here, Clarence?" she asked, letting a little of the nerves he was grating on into her voice.

The fallen angel reached into the pants pocket of the set of white scrubs he still wore underneath his trademark overcoat—people always mistook it for a trench coat, as he had once explained to her—and pulled out a burner phone.

"Got them to track your GPS. I saw Dean do it once to Sam," he said, wagging the phone at her for just a moment before she snatched it.

She cranked down the window to this piece of crap car she had stolen and chucked the phone out onto the gravel beneath her wheels. Rolling the window up, she scoffed and cranked the car.

"You didn't answer my question," Castiel noted as she pulled out onto the road.

She blinked out at the rising sun, her lips pulled tightly together as if she were eating something sour. "What did you ask me?" she said, adding a "now" under her breath. She knew his hearing was as good as hers, the perks of being a supernatural creature, but it didn't matter. He wouldn't take notice of the annoyance, and it made her feel better just to vent it, bit by bit if nothing else.

"When was your first time?" the dark-haired angel repeated.

She took her eyes off the road long enough to search his curious blue eyes, finding that they were locked on her own. Meg was the first to blink, and thus looked back to the road. She was still in her lane, so that was a plus.

"My first time… what?"

She had a bad feeling that she knew exactly to what he was referring, but those damn Winchesters must have rubbed off on her. Because she had just a bit of hope in her that she was wrong.

"Your first sexual experience with a partner," Castiel clarified, and Meg rolled her eyes. An expression that was being used more and more around Crazy Cass.

Sadly, she had come to realize that playing along was often the best way to deal his near constant moments of Curious Cat. She had tried to warn him, the first few times, what had become of that damned cat, but that had launched another set of philosophical questions. So, now, she just answered as best she could. She sighed, shrugging.

"Are we talking first, second, third base, or rounding all the way home?"

He arched a brow at her. "I was unware there were bases. Are their rules?"

She couldn't help it. She laughed. She laughed a lot around Clarence, and it was as annoying as it was confusing.

"Um, yes and no, I guess. Depends on what you're into," she chuckled.

His brow scrunched, and she could tell that he didn't understand a damn thing she was insinuating. She shook her head.

"Never mind. My first time… well, as a human was hundreds of hundreds of years ago, with my husband. Big, ugly brute that he was."

"You were married in your human life?"

She may have imagined it, but he sounded a little… jealous. A little niggling feeling of… something she couldn't identify grew inside of her. Whatever it was, it made her feel fuzzy and warm, like a freakin' kitten.

"Yeah, well, he was like three times my size, with his, ahem, gifts being three times too small."

She rolled her head, feeling the bones of her meatsuit's neck crack into place. Not that she couldn't keep this body healed, thus keeping bones and such in their perfect place, but she enjoyed the cracking noise. It soothed her, and she needed soothing. She had hated her human life. Her husband had been a brute who had cared nothing for her—just the small bits of farmland that had come attached to her. And her kids had been nothing but fat brats. Hell had been almost enjoyable after her human life.

"So it was not… satisfactory?"

She chuckled again. "Clarence, all I could feel when he was on top of me was his weight, and all I could feel when he was behind me was his meaty thighs. So, no. No happy fun little deaths for me."

She had expected confusion, but instead, the angel nodded sagely. "Ah, yes. Little death. I've heard the human orgasm described as such."

"Well, score one for the virgin angel."

Now he was confused again. "How did you know that I…?"

"Cass, it's obvious. Like, neon sign in pitch black obvious."

There was a—and she hated to even think his word, but—blessed period of silence following this. But it was brief. Way too damn brief.

"And your first time… as a demon?"

At this, she chuckled. "Honestly, it had kind of been an orgy thing, and I can't remember who got me off first. But, definitely head and shoulders above my old ball-and-chain's ability."

He nodded, and looked as if he were filing away that little tidbit. After another moment of silence, Meg found herself wondering. She wanted to kick herself. She rolled the question around in her mouth before finally forcing the words out.

"What brought this up anyway?"

"I came across the story of the Pizza Man again," he began.

Porn, Meg's brain translated.

"And one of the young women he copulated with claimed it to be her first time, and fantastic. She seemed very young. Then I thought back to the mating habits of bees, and cats, and other animals. I wondered if it was always an early age for humans, as it was for the rest of the animals, or—because of their elongated lifespans—it was normally a later experience."

Meg rolled this around in her brain a bit, let it rattle. Finally, she shook her head.

"So, you're saying, when you were asking 'when' my first time was… you literally just wanted to know my age?"

"Yes. Which, you didn't give."

"Seventeen," she answered, almost automatically, gaining a satisfying sigh—like finishing a good meal—from Castiel. "So, let me get this straight. I could have just given my age… and been done with this?"

"Yes. Though, I did find the rest of the information helpful. It's given me much more to think on."

Meg gripped the steering wheel, careful not to put all of her strength into it. "Well, do your damn thinking elsewhere! I'm not a freaking diary to be opened, read, and analyzed!"

She had largely kept her human life hers. Only the demon she had sold her soul to, and Azazel, had known her story, her reason for selling her soul. And now Cas knew. He friggin' knew.

"Leave!" she shouted.

"You're angry," he all but squeaked, and vanished.

She sighed. At the next available moment, she pulled to the side of the road. She rested her forehead against the wheel, and groaned. How the hell did he do it? How did he make her so damn talkative? It had taken Lucifer-knows how long for Azazel to torture the information out of her, and the only reason the crossroads demon had it any easier was because she had to ask for what she wanted.

"That angel is going to be the death of me," she murmured, pulling back out onto the road. "One more visit, and I'm taking Dean back his boyfriend."

 _fin_


End file.
